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It’s amazing how fast memories slip away — things that seem so significant when they happen. It’s a good thing The Geek has an institutional memory! Because now I can use his Ireland journal (which for now basically consists of bullet points to be elaborated upon later) to supplement the bits and pieces left in my swiss-cheese brain.

Like this juicy little tidbit:

Myles got strep throat our second day in Dublin. He woke up at 6 a.m. with a spiking fever and a telltale murky voice. Ed got up with him and navigated his way to a clinic to get him seen and get some penicillin. (Again — totally my hero.) After just a few doses, Myles was feeling much better. He was supposed to take the medicine for seven days.

In Dingle, outside our room in the guest house above the pub, we were delighted to find a little refrigerator. We were worried we’d have to buy a cooler to keep his medicine cold. So we stuck that, along with some milk for the baby in the fridge.

The next morning at breakfast, this couple walks into the dining room, looking like they’d just been dragged from the bottom of an empty Guinness fermenting tank (they smelled like it, too). I delighted at the fact that Simon was in full screech mode — I’d laugh like the Wicked Witch of the West every time I thought about how that sound must be piercing their bloated brains like a hot knife through butter.

We’d get our payback.

After another night of debauchery, said couple showed up to breakfast looking just as rough as the previous day. We had figured out by now that they were staying in the room down the hall from us — I’m pretty sure theirs was the only other occupied room on our floor. They had learned their lesson and sat as far from us as possible.

When we returned to our room, I went to retrieve Myles’ medicine. I was about to pour out a dose when I noticed the bottle was almost empty. Much to Myles’ delight (Irish penicillin apparently doesn’t have that oh-so-appealing bubble-gum flavor), someone had downed about four fluid ounces of his medicine.

Eeew.

On our third morning, we had the delight of discovering them passed out on the floor outside of their room.

I guess staying in a room above a pub did have its down side. But if I had to choose between weird (but mostly harmless) drunks sleeping on our floor and having a pub downstairs or the opposite, I’d do it all over again.

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